shimmers across the galaxy
by Alialka
Summary: There were many occasions, many moments shared between the two. Each was precious and one of a kind. / a collection of short ficlets about Garrus and Shepard / rating may change depending on the chapter
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

_**- Exhaustion -**_

**by Alialka**

* * *

><p>The door hissed quietly as it slid behind the journalist, and Shepard sighed, leaning heavily onto the cold glass of the fish tank.<p>

There were days when she really wished she didn't need any help she could get, as dealing with interviews was never her good trait, if her unfortunate _meetings_ with Khalisah al-Jilani were anything to go by, and even the fact that Allers tried to keep things professional didn't make this easier.

Tried being the key word there.

Allers' eyes were always smoldering and heavy, and she was everything that Shepard was not. Flirty and sensuous, with a hip-sway that made half of the crew stop and stare, and a definite knack for any kind of information that would make a good story to sell. But it was all for the greater good, Shepard told herself, as the cold from the glass seeped through the thick material of her hoodie.

It was a good feeling; the chill creeping up her back.

It was a _different _feeling and it helped her imagine that she didn't feel the heat and flames that surrounded her as Thessia burned, collapsed around her. Her throat tightened, bile rose and she pressed herself even more against the glass.

She has used up all of her energy during the briefing, anger no longer fueling her actions. But her demands were answered, they had a clue, a small lead and she _would_ follow it, no matter how slim the chances. Now, after a quick round around the ship and a few talks here and there, she felt spent, sucked dry and her skin began to burn.

And she still agreed on an interview, because Allers stated that the viewers needed hope, needed her beliefs and strong words and Shepard almost burst out with laughter in reporter's face at that.

She barely had any herself.

Because how could she…? Just how in the world could she believe that everything would be alright, when she allowed the hope for a better tomorrow be snatched from her fingers?

Liara lost her home because of her. She should have known better. She should have _been_ better.

The door hissed again, no knock, no request of entry and her arms tightened around her frame – she didn't even remember moving them at all – listening to the soft bubbling of the air filters and the all too familiar sound of booted talons against her cabin's floor.

The way her fingers dug into her sides was almost painful and maybe it could make her forget about the other kind of pain that ripped her from the inside.

They already talked, his news of his family a small white dot in the sea of misery, but then his eyes clouded and mandibles tightened as he told her of the decisions he made. She cracked just a little in front of him then – in the company of Normandy's guns and the familiar scent of oil – and he only gave his support, through words and touch alike.

Now Garrus stood in front of her, hands on her elbows and Shepard swayed slightly, her head swimming. As usual, his body was much warmer than that of an average human, and the contrast between the cold glass and his warmth made her weak in the knees.

While the fires that devoured Thessia were still etched into her mind, while she still could feel the heat of explosions and the licks of flames, Garrus' body heat was something different.

Completely different, most welcomed and _so_ missed – she would never admit to anyone but herself just how lonely her six months on Earth were – and it made her feel safe. A rare luxury in these hard times and he gave it so openly…

Her hands fell to her sides, felt laden as she willed them to move and rest at the sharp of his hips.

A hum escaped her; she _liked_ his hips. And then , slowly, something uncoiled within her with each of their shared breaths.

Garrus shifted, accommodating her feet between his and he rested his forehead against the top of her messy head. Enfolding her completely, making her breath hitch for too many different reasons.

He took of the chest-plate already and she was trapped between the cold and heat, and somehow it made breathing a little bit easier. Her fingers tightened and he made a sound, soft and alien and it was her undoing.

She pressed her face into the strange material of his clothes, his arms coming around her and holding, hiding her for just a moment. Shepard wanted to say something, anything that would break the silence and the sound of bubbles, but her mind was blank and she found herself too damn tired to try anymore.

She needed this, needed him, now, when she was at the brink of crashing and breaking down.

One talon rubbed against the small of her back, small circles that made her sigh and melt and she made herself comfortable in his embrace.

"Stay," she muttered against his chest, eyes heavy and sore and maybe, if he would, she could wind down for once.

This time he hummed, light and agreeable, as he moved again, and his breath tickled her ear, one mandible brushing against her cheek as he spoke, "Disrupting the crew already, Commander?"

Flames flickered behind her lids, but they were not from the asari homeworld and the corners of her lips arched just a bit. His hold tightened as if Garrus could _feel_ when she smiled and she felt limbless.

"With you, Vakarian?" she said, finally looking up at him and her lips brushed against the hard ridge of his mouth, "Always."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 1**_

_**- Exploration -**_

**by Alialka**

* * *

><p>She wasn't really sure, but certainly there <em>had<em> to be a law against this somewhere in the Galaxy.

Then again, she wasn't sure of many things right now, her name for example or time of the day, but certainly, anyone knowing tricks like that just had to be illegal.

Besides, weren't turian _avian_…? Where the fuck did he ever learn to use his…

_Oh! _With her brain coming to a screeching, delightful stop, she couldn't help but moan out loud at the surge of heat that shot through her.

Her fingers tightened on the hardened spikes of Garrus' fringe, earning a satisfied hum – cocky bastard, she managed to think through the haze of pleasure, he _knew_ what that sound did to her – and he rubbed the unscarred side of his face against her thigh. And then, with another flick of a rough tongue, he had her throwing her head back against the glass. Her knee was aching and wobbly, supporting all of her weight, but if he kept doing that, she didn't want to _ever_ change the position she found herself in.

Now, one of his large hands was a steady, pulsating warmth that gripped the sharp of her hip, keeping her in place as she writhed between the glass and his body.

Shepard may have rasped his name at a few occasions - or mewled or cried even - but she wasn't really aware of small things like that by now and as sure as hell she didn't give a damn.

Ironically enough, she was the one to call him up, to discuss the latest signals that came up on the scanner and whether they should or not go exploring the nearby planet. She wasn't really sure she wanted to, with Normandy still recovering from the beating it too after the Omega 4 relay jump.

She called him up because she needed some insight.

Only to find out that Garrus had a completely different idea about how the said _exploring_ should go. And a very interesting outlook on the said insight…

Somehow, in a matter of minutes, she found herself trapped between cold glass and a hot turian, pants yanked down and one leg over his shoulder, his tongue leaving a burning trail on the inner sides of her thighs. Fuck, he had her quivering and grinding against his talented mouth and he knew it. She felt the flare of the mandibles against her skin too often not to realize that.

Whatever he was meant to explore, he was very, very _thorough_.

Not that Shepard minded, because really, with her insides coiling hot and tight and his talons scratching the length of her leg who was she to stop him?

Her hips jerked as his tongue curled and the happy hum turned into a deep growl, resonating through her and adding to the sensations she felt. And then his mouth was gone, and she whimpered by the loss, nerves sizzling and her hands tightened their grip on his fringe again.

He chuckled and Shepard gritted her teeth.

She would throw him out of the goddamn airlock in the next few _seconds _if he didn't…

Starts promptly exploded in front of her eyes as he slipped one blunted talon inside, curled it at just the right angle and then he licked the hardened nub. She may have cried out then, really _cried,_ and rocked her hips against his hand. It earned her another growl, and a hard squeeze of her buttock and the scratch of his talons against her sweat covered skin became her undoing.

She barely registered groaning out his name.

There was a dull pain in the back of her head – she must have hit the glass again, _hard _and she scared the light out of her poor fish - and she felt bloody limbless, as Garrus waited for her to come down from her high and untangled her leg from his shoulder. Tired and sated, she gazed down at him, as he nipped and licked around exposed skin – still firmly on his knees and his hands were so warm – and she tried to gather her wits about.

Proved to be harder than she ever imagined, with a pleasant pull and an aroused turian between her legs.

"Well…" she rasped, wanting nothing more than to collapse in a heap of tired limbs and just enjoy the afterglow, preferably tucked lazily under the said turian's chin, "Fuck…"

Garrus looked up then, over the expanse of her upper body, the brilliant blue of his eyes taking on a dark and stormy hue and inside of her, another wave of heat started to raise. He raised himself slowly, making her shudder with anticipation as his talons snipped at the flimsy excuse of a tank top she wore. The pieces of cloth fell to the floor and her body tensed in anticipation.

The realization that she stood before him like that – naked and flushed, thighs slick with his saliva and her arousal – made her sway, a moan escaping her as he drew a lazy circle over an already hardened nipple.

Such a simple motion, but it made her whimper greedily and press against his _still_ clothed body.

"That comes later," he rumbled and again his voice seemed to vibrate through her, pool deep inside of her, his breath scorching hot over one ear, "There's still the upper part to _explore_"

She wasn't sure of almost anything by now, not when he again put that tongue to use once again and not when his talons were mapping out every goddamn curve her body had to offer.

Well…

One thing was for sure.

Simple explorations were effectively ruined for her now.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**- only human - **_

**by Alialka**

* * *

><p>It's frighteningly easy to forget who she really was, what resided underneath all of the armor and hardened, scarred skin. Everyone looked up to her for guidance and for orders, her ability to escape death and bring justice forth painting her a hero, the galaxy's champion.<p>

Somehow, she started to believe it too, even if she never admitted that out loud. But she was dead at one time and then resurrected, reborn with a few more scars – scars that began to fade months ago - and a lot of cybernetics wired into her body. It was hard not to believe in her own legend. Hard to remember how to feel doubt and weakness when courage and strength were so desperately needed, how to take uncertain steps when everyone expected a confident stroll.

She was the peacemaker; settling issues with words and fists alike, befriending aliens and humans like their differences didn't matter. Forging alliances everyone else considered impossible, bringing former enemies to work together under burning skies.

Finding unexpected comfort in the arms of a turian somewhere along the way… Her knees weakened fro that short moment when he appeared in front of her on Manae, all safe and sound and her heart almost leapt out of her chest. On Normandy her steps were quicker than usual as she made her way to the Main Battery, wanting to see him as soon as possible, Primarch stuck in the war room be damned.

Something seemed to burst deep inside her when Garrus skidded around the topic of _them_ and the feel of his scars _finally_ against her lips felt like coming home. She missed him during the past six months and finding her way back to him made her feel energized and confident, like the trials laid out before her were no obstacle at all.

But right now, her eyes were rimmed red and itchy, and her body felt laden.

She managed to find her way into the Docking area at the very long last and her heart tightened at the sight of all those refuges.

She dragged her feet, listening to wails and chocked cries, to humans and batarians. The make shift med section full with the wounded, the doctors of all races grunting orders and yet … the blood kept dripping onto the once well kept floor.

The _drip-drop, drip-drop _sound made her sick, made her force her body tomove until the sight of blue and silver catches her eye.

Now, the unknown turians are bustling around her, listening to the orders Garrus' barked just seconds ago, when his hard gaze was still focused on them. The smell of bandages and antisthetics makes her stomach churn, as she listens to Garrus talk. When he speaks about the Palaven slaughter, about the slim chances their survivors have, he averts his eyes not to let her see. But she knows anyway and the pained moans and agonized grunts that come every cramped corner cause her to swallow quicker than she's used to.

She wants to touch him, reassure him – this is what she _does _after all, give hope and strength and a shoulder to lean on - but they're surrounded by his kin and she cares enough not to put him in a compromising situation.

There's quite a lot of empty space between them, Shepard notices over a heavy breath, but she can see the way the strong lights flicker on and off of his armor and the way his mandibles tighten when she asks about his family. But then his eyes are searching her face, so blue and bright and so missed during her lone nights in the brig. And when he asks her how _she_ is doing, it feels like something hard and heavy is peeled off of her back.

Amidst all of the wounded and the dying, witnessing as the blue of his eyes softens, against the legend she became over the last few years, Shepard find herself strangely unable to say anything but the truth.

Maybe because Garrus deserves nothing else in the very least and she speaks, words forming and leaving a tight throat.

It's only a few short words, nothing too descriptive; she's Commander Shepard, defender of the Citadel and Savior of the Galaxy. She doesn't break, doesn't doubt, even if this is the third time the fate of the universe is resting on her small shoulders.

His head is tilted ever so to one side and for a second she feels like fidgeting under his gaze. When he finally speaks, even if the silence never begun between them, his voice stirs something deep within her.

Garrus only reminds her to come up for air.

There's a slight shift in his posture, the smallest twitch of his hand as he speaks of other people, humans and turian and every other race there is out there, but her breath catches tight in her chest and her eyes are opened wide.

And even when Garrus takes one small step, the space between them is still there; and for a moment his reminder seems absurd. In a onslaught of thoughts she finds both bitterness and relief; that she remained the hero, that she does seem untouchable and unbreakable because there are others who count on her to be just that.

That Garrus knew what she needed to hear, even despite her silly admittance of being just tired, of the task being a strain. He knew her best, after all, knew how to make her go as far as she could…

"..because I need you," reach her ears and everything slows – heartbeat, noise, world - before it seems to fade away.

And so she keeps looking at him, at those bright blue eyes, as her heart threatened to jump out of her chest on a kick-start. Because while she could barely recognize the variety of emotions in turian voices, the flanging making it impossible for her simple human hearing to do so, she already heard _this_ particular note.

From this particular turian.

And like before, it makes her breath catch and lungs burn, makes her feel small and helpless and while she hates the feeling with a passion, she _loves_ him for being able to do all of this to her.

Remind her that she's not only a living legend, not only the Commander, not the Savior…

Amidst the turians, wrapped in the smell of death and hopelessness, Garrus takes one more step; the space is _still _stretched and present between them, but his hand is warm and familiar on her elbow.

Steadying her as Shepard's shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of all of their worlds.

The sharp lights keep on flickering on and off, on and off, as she allows herself a fleeting moment of weakness. When she looks up, her eyes are clear one more and his hold is gone, but breathing suddenly becomes easier.

Shepard straightens her shoulders, brushes a tuft of bright red from her face and allows herself to believe that at least this _something_ will turn out to be alright.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_**- Out of Time -**_

**by Alialka**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Slight spoilers for ME3 ending. Very slight. If you squint really, really hard.**

* * *

><p>The intensity of the stares made her feel like they were drilling through the trick cover of her armor, but right now, she couldn't care less. She was way past the point of caring, not after everything they've been through together, not with his last words echoing in the back of her mind and especially not with the desperate manner they clung to each other.<p>

And while clinging should be the last word anyone would ever associate with the Savior of the Galaxy – third time running now – Shepard couldn't talk herself into giving a flying fuck.

Neither did Garrus, if the low rumble and the urgent tug was any indication. And _especially_ if one would consider they were surrounded by _his_ people.

But it was fortunate and not in the same time that they didn't have the luxury of time; to think this through, to worry, to rationalize…

Why couldn't they have just a _little_ more time…? Everything had to happen so quick – that first time before Omega, then just a few short weeks for them to catch their strained breaths, and then she was taken away… Now they were on a road that would lead them to nothing short of destruction and no heated words, no passionate speeche could charm the reality.

Her eyes stung suddenly, vision blurred and all she could see was the haze of fuzzy lights and distorted shadows, as Garrus unceremoniusly dragged her from prying eyes and shocked gasps. Lost track of what was happening untill she found herself trapped between a concrete wall and an armored turian.

She never wished for anything for herself, always put others – friends, commanders, whole planets, whole races - above her but right now, in the dark corner of a ruined building she _prayed_ for a few moments, few short minutes…Her whole world shrank to the small space between them and the bright of his eyes.

Her fingers and his talons worked the latches and clasps on their respective almost unconsciously, too accustomed to undressing themselves by now to even pay attention to the task. Garrus leaned closer, her mouth soft and hot and desperate on his plated one and it had to be the best feeling in the whole world.

In all of the worlds.

Bits and pieces of armor clanked to the rubble at their feet, her shirt was yanked up and pants pulled down. Garrus' body was so, so warm, so familiar and it made her choke on a sob that refused to be stopped. Her fingers traced the sides of his face, his arms wound around her waist, supporting and holding and she never wanted him to stop.

Difference in races be damned, because _they_ were nothing but perfect to each other, her soft skin pressed against the hard angles of his plates.

And like all those scarce times before, he filled her – in all meanings of the word – and even with the coarse concrete scratching against her back, this was heaven_. _It had a name_ - his name - _ and she was whispering it feverently.

"Hey, hey…,", his voice rumbled through her, gentle and soothing and it cased her heart to bleed as he licked along her jaw line, catching tears and sweat and her hands slipped underneath the sharp spikes of his fringe.

Pressing herself closer, rocking and wishing she could imprint the feel of his body, to burn the way they fit together into her skin, Shepard cried and kissed his scars, his markings and just everywhere she could reach.

"I'm sorry…," she blubbered, the weight resting on her shoulders too much after all and his hands gripped her hips tight, "I'm so sorry, Garrus, so sorry…"

He let out a growl, snapped his hips and nuzzled the crock between her neck and shoulder, his hot breath tickling that scar he left there months ago, "It's ok…" and once again it came out a rumble, one that soothed and caused pain in the same time.

But it never was ok, _they_ never had the chance to be truly ok and the knowledge that they never _will_ was suddenly too much.

"I love you," she choked out again as she pulled herself even closer; why couldn't it be possible to simply melt into each other, to remain forever like this…?, "I'm so…"

"I know," his voice was strained, his hold desperate and Shepard felt her whole body tense and nerves sizzle, "I love you, I understand… Spirits …"

Her eyes burned with too many tears and sweat, her body trembling as torn whispers left their mouths. Whispers of reassurance, because it was too late for promises and orders and anything else at all. She wanted him to know, to remember, and he wanted her to realize, to understand.

Shepard gasped his name, her back aching and the world melted and her eyes closed, the heat between them unbearable and yet it was still too little…

She heard him growl and in her haze she tried to memorize it as best as she could, because what if she never would have the chance to listen – to feel, to touch, to kiss, to love – him ever again…? Her legs around his hips, her weight nothing to his turian strength, and they breathed in their desperate release.

And when the cold, harsh reality slowly came into focus, Shepard tucked her head under his chin, pressed her face against the soft skin of his neck. Tried to steal a few seconds more...

"Come on," oh, she loved what he could do with his voice and how it would wash over her, "Look at me Shepard…"

And of course she did as he said, not once missing the chance to stare into the blue of his eyes and he pressed his forehead against his. The warmth of his body enough to keep the chill of the night and the assault away from her, his hold still sure, still desperate and she never wanted to let go of this.

But they were facing impossible odds and they knew all too well how it could end, despite their heated words and promises to each other made through the last weeks…

"That order still stands, Commander," Garrus growled then, _forcing _his hands away from her and allowing Shepard to stand on her won, shaky legs.

Her lips were red and bruised, her back a stinging mess as she pulled her shirt down but she stared at him with the all too familiar confidence.

"You bet it does, Vakarian."

* * *

><p>Was death supposed to feel like this?<p>

She could barely remember her first time dying, being spaced and all of her consciousness escaping her before anything excruciating began. But this...

_This_ was different. This was bloody awful, as if her chest was burning, heavy as if filled with lead and the darkness around her was nothing short of pressing.

Her memory was a fuzz; mutilated corpses mixed and meshed with bright, blinding lights, the smell of gunfire blended with something artificial, inhuman, _alien_. There was running, the Reapers aiming their beams, there were explosions and husks... But it was all blurred, unfocused and she couldn't quite recall what happened and where was she now…

There was a child…? A … path…? There was a man... he had a weak voice and tired eyes...

_Anderson!_

He was the first clear memory – his death, quiet and soft as his life bled out of him with no hurry – and it made her gasp, the sound torn and painful.

For a fleeting second it's echo was the only noise around her, save for her breathing that gradually become more shallow, more raspy, and then the darkness _shifted. _

A loud rumble nearly deafened her, pieces of stone showering upon her face and beaten body and then light flooded her, made her blind.

So this was it then.

Shepard breathed out in sudden relief, the crushing feeling gone and already forgotten, her body relaxing and finally - she could feel her heart beat slowly, tiredly.

And then there were warm – painfully warm – hands holding her face; they were strangely shaped, her fuzzy mind registered, and slightly rough and the fingers against her skin were oddly sharp…

She forced herself to open her eyes, breath hitching at the chance of impossible.

Everything was a blur, the light too bright and everything too much, but she could make out the distinctive blue shade of Garrus' eyes. Talons cupped the back of her head, hard plates pressed against her bruised forehead and she heard the low rumble, felt it run through her tired body.

"Good girl."


End file.
